Cold Steel
by ChangedAtTheBehestOfSomebody
Summary: "My armor is Contempt. My shield is Disgust. My sword is Hatred. Let none survive." UPDATE: Cover photo changed. One of my drawings from a while ago with a background edited in.


**AN: Got bored. Played lots of Fallout. Wrote a random oneshot that may or not be loosely based off of the atrocities I commit on a regular basis in the actual game…**

**Yeah, I dunno. Just needed something to help me take a break from the much larger fanfic I'm currently writing, and I figured I could use some practice writing combat scenes. So… yeah. **

The blaring of alarms snapped Private Kowalski awake, the distant chatter of rifle fire rousing him from his drab bedroll. He felt his heart beating in his chest as flattened out his messy brown hair, grabbing his dome-shaped helmet and ramming it down on his head as the other soldiers in the tent scrambled out of sleeping bags and bunks, frantically pulling on their uniforms and snatching up their service rifles.

The continuous, grating drone of the alarm was suddenly cut as a thunderous, cataclysmic explosion shook the earth, boxes, tins and utensils clattering to the ground of the tent. There was absolute silence amongst the barracks as the NCR soldiers waited tensely for the 'all clear' signal that usually followed when the alarm stopped. None came.

Kowalski exchanged a worried glance with the trooper next to him, both of their eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion. The dim lights that hung from the ceiling flickered, illuminating the forlorn expressions of the exhausted soldiers. _Forlorn. Camp Forlorn Hope, _thought Kowalski bitterly. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words left before the clamor of renewed gunfire, now much closer caught their attention.

The young private reacted instantly, crashing through the ramshackle scrap door of the tent and out into the open. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw the enormous pillars of flame dancing triumphantly in the dark of the night, over where the towers and walls on the perimeter of the camp should have been. The rifle fire grew louder now, the occasional chatter of a machine gun joining them as NCR troopers and rangers scrambled away from their burning fortifications, their shadows swimming across the cold, sand ground as they ran, yelling for the soldiers in the camp to take up arms.

A nearby sergeant motioned for Kowalski and the other troopers now crowding outside the barracks to move forwards. The grim determination on the veterans' faces and the terrified glances that rookies exchanged with each other betrayed all of their thoughts. There could only be one foe that they could be facing. Kowlaski gulped as he saw the silhouettes of legionaries cresting the blazing towers and dashing into the open, the hellish fires illuminating the crimson tide about to crash down on Camp Forlorn Hope.

He followed his comrades, kneeling down and aiming down his sights at the advancing horde, his finger jamming down on the trigger. Their panicked fire cut down dozens of legionaries as they charged into the camp, but for every one that fell, it seemed as though two or three more would take his place.

Screams and gunfire began to erupt all around the perimeter of the camp, the Legion pressing in on every side. Kowalski's rifle clicked empty, and he shakily removed the empty clip, his hand spasming as it rummaged through his pack for a fresh ammo clip. The blood curdling warcries of an advancing pack of legionaries had him leaping to his feet in surprise. He stood frozen in place as they closed the distance, many felled by rifle fire, but it had now become panicked and uncoordinated, bullets zipping past legion troops and slapping harmlessly into the ground as the legion horde leaped into the NCR ranks.

Kowalski stood in the midst of the chaos, completely paralyzed as the crimson butchers laid into the soldiers he had called friends, his vision swimming as streaks of blood and tracers mixed together.

The freshwater stream that ran through the camp was stained red in the moonlight as the corpses of fallen NCR troopers were hurled back, rusted blades bludgeoning men and women and razor-sharp edges scything through tendon and bone.

The moonlight glinted off of the wicked edge of a machete as it sailed through the air towards Kowalski, and he could almost feel the sadistic grin beneath the mask that the legionary wielding the blade wore. _This is it, _he thought. They were all going to die here, and Camp Forlorn Hope would fall at last.

A blazing bolt of blue lanced out past him, smashing into the man that would have taken his life. Kowalski stared in shock as the man was sent flying back, bolts of electricity arcing across his body as he convulsed in pain on the ground for just a few seconds, barely even having time to scream in pain before his chest exploded outwards in a shower of viscera.

Another pulse blast followed, burrowing into the stomach of a legionary prime and exploding out the back in a cloud of gore. As a Decanus exploded into ash, glowing embers and pale white dust mixing with the sand on the ground, the surviving NCR troopers retaliated, recovering weapons from the ground and slamming clips back into place before mowing down the disorganized and demoralized legionaries.

They bellowed out a warcry of their own as they surged forwards, a sea of brown, drab uniforms charging to meet another group of advancing legion troops, encouraged and revitalized from the unexpected aid.

Kowalski quickly reloaded his weapon, dashing forwards and following his comrades into an ever-thinning crowd of enemies as more of the electrical blasts lashed out from the shadows. He felt his despair dissipating, as he added his own yell to the clamor of war. He ignored what he at first thought was a small cluster of grenades sailing into the fray, instead easing the head of a legionary into his sights and squeezing his finger down on the trigger.

His sudden bout of courage was swiftly crushed as a chain of explosions rocked the ground, picking him up and hurling him backwards through the air like a ragdoll. Blossoms of orange fire and sickly green plasma spread across the field of battle.

He crashed into the hard ground, his ears ringing as a blazing inferno was cast over the melee, devouring legion and NCR, men and women alike. He blinked, unable to comprehend the carnage and its horror as he struggled to even think. He blankly acknowledged the fading shrieks of burning soldiers, just barely noticing that several nearby tents had caught fire. _My legs… why can't I feel my legs? _He tried to look down, but his head would not respond. He tried lifting himself up, but his hands remained frozen on the ground.

His eyelids felt heavy, and he found himself staring up at the moon, pure white and glowing in the night sky. He remembered the one night, so many years back, where he laid on the sun-baked desert ground, cooled by the night air with his brother, admiring the night sky. He felt tears crawling into the edges of his vision as the memory flooded back, his brain finally acknowledging the current situation. _But I'm not with my brother, _he thought, _and I never will be again. _The crumpled letter in his uniform's pocket weighed down on his chest. The letter containing his apology to his brother for lashing out at him, the words that never reached him before he died at Hoover Dam. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. _He closed his eyes, ready to accept his fate.

They snapped back open as a new sound filtered into his ears. The heavy footfalls of steel boots and whirring of servo motors drowned out the screams of the dying as a terrifying form lumbered into Kowalski's view. His blood ran cold as he stared into the hollow visor of a T-45d power helmet, the faded blue insignia of the Brotherhood of Steel shining twistedly in the hellish firelight on the armor's shoulderpad.

The lone paladin uttered not a single word as he raised his pulse rifle, the coils on it blazing azure as it discharged a single bolt into Kowalski's head.

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Dr. Alex Richards scrambled around the infirmary, trying his best to block out the sounds of battle from outside as he frantically weaved his scalpel in and out of wounds, expertly plucking out stray bullets or carefully dabbing at cuts with disinfectant, giving small doses of Med-X to wounded soldiers flooding in from the Legion's surprise attack.

He wiped away drops of sweat as the door flew open and a veteran ranger, exhausted from the battle, dumped a pair of wounded and unconscious soldiers on the ground. She briefly nodded in acknowledgement at Richards before unslinging her brush gun and rushing back into the fray.

The sharp thump of a detonating frag grenade sounded off in the distance, and gunfire grew more intense and closer to the infirmary. Richards gulped, keeping his fear barely in check as he jogged over to the two wounded soldiers, scooping one up by the armpits and dragging them over to a spot on the ground, the moans of other treated soldiers grating on his ears as he carefully stepped around them.

He set the limp body of the man he was dragging against the rusted metal wall, his eyes scanning over the crimson-stained uniform for open wounds.

"Shit!" Richards' head snapped up as he heard a stream of curses and yells from outside, suddenly drowned out as rifles and machine guns chattered relentlessly. Panic began to creep up his spine as he realized just how close the gunfire was. He jumped to his feet, scrambling over to the doorway and nearly knocking over boxes of equipment in the dank, dark room as he attempted to reach the other unconscious trooper and drag him to safety.

He only made it halfway across the room before an earth-shattering explosion blasted the makeshift door open, crushing the unconscious man and anyone else unfortunate enough to be nearby. The force generated bowled Richards back, sending him tumbling over a table of equipment as shrapnel lashed out and voraciously tore into other wounded troops.

He cowered on the ground, hands over his head and trying to block out the renewed wails and screams of the wounded. His lip trembled, and he fought back tears as another explosion rocked the building, this time tearing down the entire wall in a cataclysmic cacophony of screeching metal and screaming men. Chunks of warped metal and shrapnel cut through the air, slicing mercilessly into the wounded and bedraggled NCR troops, silencing their helpless moans and pleas.

Alien, strobe-like flashes of blue lit up the night sky, mixing every so often with the dancing flames in the distance. The panicked screams of NCR soldiers as they emptied their clips at an enemy unseen to Richards drowned out everything. He looked up, the lights on the ceiling having been knocked out. The room was bathed in darkness, the only light coming from the gaping cavity where a wall once stood. Richards' breathing came out heavily as he picked himself up, brushing dust out of his black hair as he scrambled over to his patients. The gunfire outside reached a crescendo, the chattering and popping of rifles beating down on the metal walls around him as he helplessly pressed down on the still chest of a soldier, tears streaming out of his eyes as he moved on to the next man, only to find himself staring at the hollow, empty eye sockets of a corpse.

_Please let it be a dream, please let it be a dream… _The veteran ranger from before stumbled into the building through a pile of warped scrap metal, her gas mask discarded, revealing her haggard face as she waved her comrades inside. An azure bolt slammed into her chestpiece, lifting her off the ground and slamming her into the far wall, tendrils of electricity dancing across her body. Her face was twisted in agony, her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth biting into her cracked and dry lips as she stifled a scream.

The intensity of the gunfire outside slackened as the alien, warped sounds of pulse blasts intensified, beating on Richards' eardrums. He looked helplessly over to the fallen ranger, her helmet knocked aside, revealing her frizzled red hair. She sluggishly made to stand up, the weakened metal wall of the infirmary creaking as she leaned against it for support.

By now, the rifle fire outside had completely ceased, and Richards could just barely make out the heavy _thumps _of boots on the ground as they grew louder and louder. He looked back at the ranger, heaving and gasping for breath just from trying to stand up, her armor's breastplate scorched and seemingly welded to her flesh. He winced at seeing the wound. _I have to help, _he realized. He fumbled around in the darkness, hands brushing over the cold, dead flesh of carcasses as he searched for his doctor's bag. He wiped snot and tears off of his face, mustering up courage as his hands clutched the familiar handle of his bag full of medical supplies. He jumped to his feet, slinging the sack over his shoulder and stepping over corpses and debris as he made his way to the ranger, occasionally glancing up and-

His breath froze in his throat as the lumbering shadow of a Brotherhood Paladin eclipsed the moon. Richards stood, paralyzed by fear as the ranger lunged away from the wall at the metal giant, screaming in primal rage with a combat knife clutched between her bloody fingers. "NO!" The yell had come instinctively out of Richards' mouth as he launched himself forwards, but was unable to do anything but watch helplessly. He halted in his tracks as the paladin casually swung his pulse rifle over, leveling it at his hip and squeezing the trigger.

The ranger's roar of anger was cut off as a pulse bolt violently tore out the side of her stomach. Steaming gore and bits of bone were blasted out of the cavity as she fell to her knees, empty eyes staring back at the equally empty visor of the paladin's helmet, her mouth wide open as she fell forwards and hit the ground with a wet _slap_.

An ear-piercing roar echoed across the camp and an enormous pillar of fire erupted in the distance from the camp's ammunition stores. Richards went limp, his arms dropping his doctor's bag and his legs giving out from beneath him as he collapsed in a heap onto the cold, rusted, metal floor, the paladin's boots crunching against the ground as he walked over the corpses of NCR troops, his heavy, steel boots crushing bone and sinew as he marched over to Richards.

Richards propped himself up against a flipped table. He stared blankly at the murderous, silent paladin as he raised his boot up high, servo motors in the armor whining as he did so, and brought it crashing down on Richards' head.

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The quiet gurgling of a legionary choking on his own blood was all Dead Sea could register as he struggled to stand up, his skin blistered and scorched from a deadly pulse blast, his razor-edged machete shining under the moonlight as he commanded his hands to reach for it. They responded sluggishly, raising ever so slowly and slamming back into the blood-choked floor, coming back up sticky and congealed with the red fluid as they slowly pulled him closer and closer. He felt strength returning, but dared not increase his pace for fear that the Brotherhood paladin stalking the NCR command tent would spot him amongst the corpses of his comrades and enemies. He stifled a growl of frustration as he cast aside the charred, boiled leather hood that only obscured his view now.

A brace of pistol shots rang out, followed by the characteristic, metallic _clangs _that Dead Sea had already heard too many times that night as the bullets glanced harmlessly off of the paladin's suit. He spared a glance at the foolhardy NCR woman that had opened fire, watching as her torso exploded outwards under the intensity of a pulse bolt, steaming hot blood and liquefied flesh splashing against Dead Sea's blistered and bleeding face. He winced at the sting as the woman's charred remains crashed down next to him.

He held his breath, ignoring the stench as he pulled himself slowly forwards, even as another energy bolt lanced past his head and punched a fist-sized hole through the stomach of a fleeing NCR officer. Dead Sea caught a glimpse of the man as his body crashed to the ground, the black mane of messy hair and mustache betraying his identity as Major Polatli. Dead Sea laid still, closing his eyes and letting the blood-congealed floor pull his head down as the paladin marched over to confirm his kill. His boots thumped and squelched heavily as he passed the still form of Dead Sea, seemingly unsuspecting of his actual condition.

All was silent outside except for the crackle of ravenous flames as they ate and gorged themselves on cloth, metal, and flesh. _Closer… closer… _his fingers brushed the handle of his machete, and he snapped it up in his hands, leaping up and letting a triumphant whoop escape his lips as he vaulted over a table and charged the paladin from the rear, his machete singing as it sailed through the air towards the armored juggernaut's exposed neck.

The paladin spun around at an inhumanly fast speed however, the razor steel blade that Dead Sea gripped in his hands clanging harmlessly off of the armor's shoulderpad. He reeled back from his unsuccessful strike, throwing himself to the side just in time to avoid the azure bolt that would have surely claimed his life. His hands shot out and hit the flat, wooden head of a table, and he pushed himself off of it, launching himself once again at the paladin.

This time, he struck true, his machete swinging in an upwards arc and knocking the deadly pulse rifle out of his foe's hands. Dead Sea let a wicked grin spread over his face as he narrowly dodged a hastily thrown punch, the gloved hand of the paladin sailing past his head as he ducked around to the armored man's backside, swiftly dancing back away from a kick that could have taken his head off. _Let us see now how much of a warrior you truly are, _he thought.

He held his machete out in front of him, circling the lone paladin as he searched for an opening. He had no time to react as the man suddenly barreled into him, forty five pounds of steel smashing him backwards and off his feet.

He tumbled into a table, dodging aside just in time as the paladin followed up with a kick that splintered the wooden structure. He lunged forwards again, machete held high above his head and the gloved fist of the Brotherhood soldier rocketed into his stomach, knocking the breath out of him as he dropped his blade and fell to a knee.

A steel boot launched him to the other side of the room, his tattered uniform being splashed with blood as he tumbled through a pile of corpses and crashed into the room's radio equipment.

Feeling his strength sapping, Dead Sea hauled himself upright, forcefully spitting out a glob of blood and broken teeth before the paladin brought a radio set hurtling down onto his head.

His vision exploded into stars as his head violently smacked against the ground, blood leaking out of an open wound on its side even as he dizzily attempted to get back up. He retched, coughing up blood as he sluggishly stood back up, only to receive a brutal haymaker to his face for his troubles. He could hear the crack of bone as his foe's fist connected with his jaw, tendons and ligaments coming loose as he tumbled back into the ground.

This time, he didn't crawl back to his feet. He wheezed, breaths coming out short and ragged as darkness began to envelop his vision. He felt a hand tugging at the collar of his gear, hauling him upright and throwing him out of the tent.

The almost serene feeling that Dead Sea felt sailing through the air abruptly came crashing down as he smashed into the sandy ground outside.

Fires danced off in the distance as he laid there, black and red clawing at the edges of his vision as he fought to stay conscious. He tried to right himself as he heard the steady _thump, thump _of the approaching paladin's boots, but his body had finally given out, the last vestiges of energy burned out as even his fingers refused to respond to his commands.

He stared up in defiance at the armored figure that stood over him, Dead Sea's own machete glinting maniacally in the moonlight as the paladin rested the cool, metal edge against Dead Sea's face.

_So cold… _He blinked rapidly, staving off unconsciousness as the machete was drawn back a gloved hand. _Cold steel…_

His vision went black as his own blade severed his head from neck.


End file.
